


Never Just Filling Space

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort Sex, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Sherlock has returned, what will it mean for Mycroft and Greg?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Just Filling Space

Greg stepped into the room. Mycroft stood by the window, staring out at the city. After the chaos of the last few days, with Sherlock stepping back into the world of the living, the room was strangely silent and still.

He was still reeling himself. He and Mycroft had grown closer over the last few years and he honestly had no idea what Sherlock’s return would mean for them. Not that he ever had or would begrudge Mycroft his little brother. Quietly he stepped to Mycroft’s side, taking in the view himself. The city was cloudy and gray, the window keeping even the sound of traffic at bay.

Mycroft’s hand brushed his own.

Greg took his hand, wrapping a warm palm around his cool hand and squeezing gently. A soft sigh escaped Mycroft’s lips. Tugging him from the window, he pulled him to the couch and set him down, never letting go of his hand as he sat next to him.

They stayed like that, silence stretching out. Greg cradled his hand. Occasionally Mycroft would squeeze, as if assuring himself of Greg’s presence. For his part Greg’s mind played over the last few days. The shock, the anger. Not for himself so much as for John and Mycroft and the perdition they’d been through over the last few years. He hoped like hell Sherlock wouldn’t wreck things between John and Mary; the man deserved some happiness. Yes, Sherlock had good reason, but the world was still settling around his factual presence.

The tiniest shift of the couch brought him back to the present. Letting go of Mycroft’s hand, he wrapped his arms around the man and pulled him against his chest. Mycroft shifted and rested his head on Greg’s shoulder, warm breath softly tickling his neck. Greg ran a soothing down his back, just assuring him he was here and never going to leave.

Mycroft took a shuddering breath and the anger flared up all over again. Greg pushed him up by the shoulders holding onto them as he looked Mycroft in the eyes. After all this time, he could read the sorrow there, even as he tried to hide it. The years lay heavy on him too, new wrinkles, a few more gray hairs. “Mycroft,” he said, harsher then he intended.

He blinked. _Jesus_ , were those tears threatening? “We need to talk about this.”

Mycroft pulled free of his grip and turned away. “There is nothing to speak about.” His voice was rough.

“Damn you Holmeses,” growled Greg, standing and walking in front of Mycroft. He grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at him. “You. Need. To. Talk.”

For half a moment Mycroft looked like a scared child. Then the control snapped back into place as he yanked his head free. “I need do no such thing. Sherlock has returned home safe and sound.” He pushed past Greg to get to his feet and reached for his umbrella. “All is right in the world.”

Greg stared daggers at his back as he took two steps towards the door. “What about us?”

Mycroft stopped, but remained turned away. He watched him take a breath. “What about it?”

Greg’s hands fisted, but he stayed where he was. “You don’t need me, correct? All you needed was someone to mind Sherlock, and you’ve got that in John.” His words hurled out like bitter daggers. “I occupied your time while he was away, but now that the family is whole, I’m not needed.”

The air went deadly still. Greg could hear his heart beating in his ears. Mycroft turned. “No. Never.”

Greg crossed the distance between them, grabbed the suit and pulled Mycroft into a devastating kiss, pouring his heart into those soft lips. Mycroft wrapped his arms around his waist, opening to him, letting Greg take what he wanted as his tongue claimed every corner of his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Greg stepped back, letting go of the jacket, watching Mycroft.

Mycroft swallowed. “You are never simply a matter of occupying my time, Gregory.”

Greg nodded. “This isn’t easy for me either,” he admitted.

Mycroft stepped to him and cupped his cheek with one hand. Leaning down he kissed him tenderly. Greg moaned into the kiss and found himself steered onto the couch. Mycroft pulled back, looking into his hazel eyes. Greg started on his shirt buttons.

“Allow me,” said Mycroft, slipping to his knees. He put his hands over Greg’s, then placed them by his sides. Greg’s breathing went short as his lover slowly exposed him, kissing his flesh as he went.  Finally he spread the shirt open and kissed his stomach. Greg lifted one hand to gently stroke his hair as he undid the belt. Greg’s cock flexed with interest as his zipper came down.

Tugging his jeans down to his thighs, Mycroft leaned in and slowly ran his tongue along the underside of his shaft. “God,” groaned Greg as Mycroft sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before bobbing his head. He gripped his thighs to keep him in place as Greg tried to thrust deeper.

Finally he pulled off, leaving Greg gasping.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up. Greg grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him up for another kiss, pushing into his mouth the faint tang of pre-cum salty on his tongue.

Mycroft yanked his jeans further down. He stood and pulled Greg’s hips to the edge of the couch, ankles still tangled in his jeans.  Slick fingers probed his entrance as Mycroft held his legs against his shoulder. “Please,” panted Greg.

Looking down at him with lust-blown eyes, Mycroft stretched him further. “Gregory,” he nearly whispered. Greg looked up at him, moan escaping his lips. “You are never, ever simply taking up space in my life.” He shifted and penetrated his lover. Greg swore and closed his eyes as he filled him. “I need you, Gregory Lestrade.”

He thrust deep and hard, as if trying to show with his body what he couldn’t say with words. Greg tossed his head, helpless, nearly doubled over underneath Mycroft. Greg cracked one eye open and reached up to pull him down for another kiss, legs slipping to the side.

With a whimpered cry, Mycroft came first, pumping deep into Greg. He slipped out and went to his knees, Greg’s feet dropping to the floor. Greg reached down to stroke himself off, smiling  as the elder Holmes rested his head on his thigh. He came quietly, carding his hand though Mycroft’s hair. Mycroft turned his head and kissed his palm.

“I think we are perhaps growing too old for acrobatics on the couch,” said Mycroft dryly, after they’d had a few minutes to recover.

Greg pushed himself to a seat.  He grinned as he tugged Mycroft up onto the couch. “Speak for yourself,” he said, getting his jeans back in order.  He couldn’t help but see how rumpled Mycroft’s suit was looking.

Mycroft met his eyes for a moment, then simply rested his head against Greg’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

Leaning over, Greg kissed the top of his head. “I need you too.” Mycroft silently took one of Greg’s hands in his own. “We will get through this,” promised Greg, meaning it with his whole heart.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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